


forgive me, beloved (birashagimi, âzyungel)

by asthiathien



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It of Sorts, Gold Sickness, Guilt, Insomnia, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Somewhat Spoilers for Battle of the Five Armies, Thorin Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 04:29:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3515426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asthiathien/pseuds/asthiathien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin may have survived the Battle of the Five Armies, but wounds on the soul do not heal so readily as those on the body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	forgive me, beloved (birashagimi, âzyungel)

_Wind rushing in his ears, drowning out all sound save for his heart thudding in his chest at the sudden wash of_ betrayal _that flooded through him, pain and loss and_

\- what did you expect, one whom life has never been kind to? -

 _His One, his beloved, dearest Hobbit, standing across from him with fear in his beautiful brown eyes, fear of_ him

you are changed, Thorin

 _and before Thorin can stop himself he is moving forward, words of hate and wrath spilling from his lips, and the heartbreak in Bilbo's eyes is like a dagger through his heart but he can't_ stop.

_Bilbo lunges forward, fury blazing in his eyes even though they brim with tears, and at the sight Thorin feels a rush of self-loathing like fire in his heart, acid burning upon his soul_

_but even that isn't enough to stop the madness, to stop the fateful words being thrown from his lips_

throw him from the ramparts!

_His loyal Company, so strong and brave and true, don't make a single move, and through his guilt Thorin feels a rush of gratitude but his gold-sick mind that steals him from himself feels only the burning betrayal that flames into hatred in the space of a breath._

then I shall do it myself!

_Bilbo tries to throw himself away, but despite all his speed he's still too close and then Thorin's strong, powerful hands have closed around his arms, and he's spinning around towards the battlements and Bilbo is struggling against him but Thorin is much stronger and is garbed in the full plate armour of his forefathers and none of the attacks make it through. The Company lunges for him, but Thorin is moving faster than they can and is already at the edge_

_and through the panic that small part of his mind that isn't trapped in the gold-sick delusion is reminding him that_ Gandalf's here, he stops you, Bilbo lives _but Thorin's already holding Bilbo out over the edge, ready to drop him_

 _And this is when Gandalf stopped him only_ there is no Gandalf _and he can hear finally, clearly, Bilbo whispering desperately_

please don't do this, Thorin, please, you have to **wake up**

_but then Thorin's hands are releasing their hold and Bilbo lets out a single sharp cry as he falls before he strikes the ground at the base of the wall and goes horribly silent_

* * *

And then Thorin is jolting awake with a scream caught in his throat, tears running down his cheeks and self-hatred like acid in his mouth.

Beside him, Bilbo sleeps peacefully, and only the reminder of how easily awoken his beloved is keeps him from checking for any trace of injuries, despite the reassuring sounds of his sleep-heavy breathing.

Thorin gives himself a few moments of silent watching, and then he slowly rises to his feet and pulls his boots out from beneath the bed and reaches for his cloak, ignoring the exhausted trembling of his hands.

He needs to get to the forge, to lose himself in the creation of yet more fine works of steel and silver and mithril (though not gold, _never_ gold) lest he lose himself to his own terror.

* * *

Bilbo yawns and stretches as he awakens, instinctively reaching for Thorin, and when his hands contact nothing but air a brief susurration of fear runs through him, the old fear born of almost losing Thorin to an orc's blade through his chest.

But once he thinks about it and has a look at the time, Thorin's whereabouts become blatantly obvious, as does the reason why he is up at this ungodly hour. Sleeping without Thorin's reassuring warmth at his side and the dwarf king's strong arms around him is difficult at best and nigh-impossible at worst.

Bilbo yawns and fishes around for his slippers as he sits up, noting the presence of Orcrist still within easy reach on Thorin's side of the bed (Thorin still cannot sleep without the elven blade nearby, even inside Erebor). That is a rather bad sign, for it means either Thorin was too tired to remember the weapon or he is too trapped in guilt and self-hatred to trust himself with weapons.

Bilbo sets his shoulders, bracing himself, and purposefully marches down towards Thorin's private forge.

The smithy fire is fully lit when he walks in, lighting the entire room in reds and golds, but Bilbo's eyes are immediately drawn to the figure in Durin-blue standing at the anvil, hammering away at some glowing piece of metal that Bilbo knows for a fact will later become something utterly beautiful and profoundly impractical, because _dwarves_. Honestly.

But all those thoughts are swept aside when he notices the way Thorin's hands shake, the way his breathing is stuttering as if he's on the verge of some kind of panic attack, and how he sways on his feet like he's about to faint.

"Thorin?" Bilbo says in concern before he can stop himself, and Thorin instantly spins around with his hammer upraised and Bilbo can't help but start slightly in surprise.

And then Thorin's eyes take in his slight flinch and a horrible guilt and self-hatred appear in their depths, the hammer falling from his hands to clatter upon the ground.

For a long moment, they stare at each other in silence, before Bilbo says, "Thorin? Are you all right?"

Thorin _flinches_ , mumbling something in Khuzdul that he can't catch, and then he shakes his head violently as he says in soft Westron, "That you would ask such a thing of _me_. Your kindness knows no bounds, child of the West."

Bilbo's brow furrows and he steps in closer, reaching a hand out for Thorin. "Thorin, are you all right?" he repeats. "You don't quite seem yourself. . . "

Whatever he was about to say disappears as Thorin shoves his hand violently away, staggering backwards and almost tripping over his own feet. "Don't _touch_ me," he says desperately, sounding as if on the verge of tears.

"Thorin, what's wrong?" Bilbo says determinedly, stepping in close and reaching for Thorin's hand as the dwarven king's breathing stutters again.

Pain and a depth of self-loathing that startles even Bilbo flashes through Thorin's eyes, and then Thorin has dropped to his knees before him, his head bowed and his hair hiding his face, and Thorin should _never_ look so _small_.

" _Birashagimi, âzyungel_ ," Thorin whispers, and then more words in Khuzdul that Bilbo doesn't understand, but he knows that tone of grief and guilt and self-loathing far too well.

"Thorin," Bilbo sighs, and then he reaches to take one of Thorin's strong hands as he lowers himself down to the stone floor, and Thorin looks as if he dearly wishes to pull himself away but he doesn't dare hurt Bilbo any more than he already has.

Bilbo reaches out and brushes the dwarf's hair from his face to reveal brilliant blue eyes now dark with guilt. "Thorin, you're already forgiven," he says softly, and when Thorin only shakes his head fiercely Bilbo reaches out and grasps his king's shoulders.

"Thorin, look at me," he says commandingly, and after a long, horrible moment Thorin meets his eyes. "I forgave you after the battle, and if a Baggins apologizes then there's nothing more to be said about it. You weren't yourself when you did what you did, and you had as much control over it as if you were drugged or delirious. I refuse to blame you for actions that were not yours."

"I almost _killed_ you," Thorin whispers, and his voice is hoarse and stumbling over the Westron but there is still enough guilt in the words to bring a mountain down.

"Thorin - " Bilbo starts with a sigh, but Thorin cuts him off.

"No, you don't _understand_ ," Thorin says with a wildness and desperation bordering on madness - _no, Bilbo, don't go there_ \- and he looks as if he would rather fling away Bilbo's hands and flee but his guilt keeps him in place. "I almost killed my, my _One_ , Bilbo, the only being my heart could ever love and _I almost killed you_."

"You didn't," Bilbo reminds him, soft and achingly gentle.

"But I could have!" Thorin cries out, and there are tears trickling down his cheeks unheeded.

"Thorin," Bilbo says, soft and low, and Thorin turns blazing eyes upon him, his self-hatred nearly a physical presence around him.

Bilbo gently takes Thorin's hands in his, looking deep into his eyes with quiet strength.

"You broke the dragon's curse," Bilbo says softly. "You broke free of the sickness that has plagued your line since its very inception, for my sake. I would trust you with my life, Thorin."

And then Bilbo leans forward and kisses him.

Thorin stiffens instinctively, tensing as if to pull away, but Bilbo wraps his hands around the dwarf's wrists, even though that wouldn't be enough to hold him in place if Thorin truly tried to flee, and Thorin stills.

After a long pause, Bilbo feels a feather-light touch at his wrists as Thorin carefully wraps his hands around Bilbo's, so very gently as if he is made of spun glass. Thorin's lips move against his, still horribly gentle as if he is afraid Bilbo will shatter if he so much as moves wrongly.

Bilbo lingers for several long moments before moving away, and Thorin is still looking at him with terrible guilt in his eyes, but some of that has been washed away by the love in Bilbo's touch, that he knows speaks louder to Thorin than words ever could.

But the trembling of his hands remains and now that he is closer Bilbo can see the dark shadows beneath his dwarf king's eyes.

"When was the last time you slept without being disturbed by nightmares?"

Thorin's eyes immediately flick down and away, and Bilbo taps him lightly on the cheek. "Enough of that, I told you, I forgive you."

Thorin slowly lifts his gaze to meet Bilbo's once more, and he has to take a shuddering breath before he can murmur, "While I was still recovering, when I was drugged into unconsciousness in order to heal."

Bilbo gets to his feet, his hands on Thorin's pulling the dwarf up with him. "Come on, then. You need your rest, Thorin."

Thorin swallows hard, his hands beginning to shake more now.

"Bilbo, I. . . "

"Shh," Bilbo says, wrapping his arms comfortingly around Thorin's body, and after a moment Thorin manages to rest his hands gently on his back. "It's all right, Thorin, I'm here. You're not alone anymore."

Thorin nods weakly, shuddering breaths sounding horribly loud in the silence as he follows Bilbo back to bed.

* * *

Thorin's nightmares still bring him jolting awake with a scream upon his lips and his entire body trembling with suppressed terror, but always there is Bilbo lying at his side, ready with soft words in the darkness to calm Thorin's fear and soothe his guilt until sleep can claim him once more.

**Author's Note:**

> The response to this story has quite honestly blown me away, and I send my heartfelt thanks for all those lovely, lovely people who have left comments/kudos on this fic. You are all amazing.


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